


this whole damn city thinks it needs you (but not as much as i do)

by incurableromancer



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, M/M, Panic Attacks, Romance, Sleepy Cuddles, joe is tired, nicky takes care of him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26312323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incurableromancer/pseuds/incurableromancer
Summary: Nicky reaches for him 20 minutes into the drive, hand finally steady enough to grasp his over the gear shift. It’s comforting in the way it’ll always be, but Joe can’t look at him just then, can’t let those knowing eyes draw out the frustrated tears he’s trying to keep in, the images of bodies falling flashing rapidly behind his eyelids each time he blinks, the numb tension strangling him from inside his throat.But he’s the one in the driver’s seat, which means he’s the one who has to keep it together (for now).So he squeezes Nicky’s hand, and then gently lifts it to motion for him to turn on the radio.Or: Joe is exhausted, and Nicky is there to take care of him.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 30
Kudos: 478





	this whole damn city thinks it needs you (but not as much as i do)

Joe is tired.

It’s been an agonizingly long week of just about every trying aspect of this life. First, it had been the terribly slow drag of tracking down the targets Copley had provided them with, made even less bearable by not nearly enough time to sleep, or to breath without the time sensitive nature of the assignment looming large over his shoulder, or just time to spend with Nicky as the days ticked by and the four of them checked and double checked every possible lead. Then it had been the sudden quickness of it all when they’d finally located the base of the operation and immediately been in motion, and then the physical toll that the fighting itself always takes, and the new fears for Nile, still so young, for Andy’s mortality, and always for his heart, his Nicky.

So. Now the job is done, and Joe is _exhausted._

Nicky had his left hand blown clean off in the chaos, was still trying to hide the tremors of his muscles and bones regrowing and settling back into place when they’d finally made it back to their car. Nile was just finishing throwing up in a bush, still not used to the constant bloodbath, to watching the rest of the team get injured in front of her and having to trust that they will heal. Andy has a hand on her shoulder, follows her now into the back seat, procuring a water bottle and looking as tired as she ever does. Which leaves Joe to get behind the wheel for the five hour drive to the hotel, the closest one Copley could promise would bring no trouble for them.

Nicky reaches for him 20 minutes into the drive, hand finally steady enough to grasp his over the gear shift. It’s comforting in the way it’ll always be, but Joe can’t look at him just then, can’t let those knowing eyes draw out the frustrated tears he’s trying to keep in, the images of bodies falling flashing rapidly behind his eyelids each time he blinks, the numb tension strangling him from inside his throat.

But he’s the one in the driver’s seat, which means he’s the one who has to keep it together (for now).

So he squeezes Nicky’s hand, and then gently lifts it to motion for him to turn on the radio.

Four hours, eighteen minutes and a lot of staticky classic rock later, they pull into a mostly vacant parking lot. Nile and Andy are both asleep in the backseat, and Nicky’s head has been bobbing like he’s not far off, either. But as Joe tries to breath, now without the metronome of the drums from the radio, as he stares at his hands that are still gripping the steering wheel even though he’s pretty sure he's already switched off the ignition, it’s Nicky who turns to shake Andy awake. It's Nicky who digs out the room keys they’d received several days prior in an envelope stamped with Copley’s initials, he who opens Joe’s door, and who calmly meets Joe’s wet eyes (when did he let himself start crying? Did he miss a parting word from Andy, and when did her and Nile walk away?) and leans down, down, down to pull Joe’s shaking shoulders against his own in a tight embrace.

“Yusuf, hayati. _Honey_. Please breath for me.” _You’re okay. I'm okay. We’re all okay. This pain will soon fade and I will still be here with you._

Joe isn’t sure how long they stay there like that, Nicky murmuring quietly to him and rubbing his back, but he knows he’s not shaking anymore when Nicky finally pulls away ( _no, please, not yet_ ). Then Nicky gently grasps his arms to pull him up, wraps an arm firmly around his shoulders to walk him to their room. He thinks he’s all cried out, that the only trembling he has left in him is because of how cold he feels everywhere Nicky isn’t touching him, but then he’s directed to the small washroom, and Nicky is starting the shower, and then his cheeks are hot and wet and salty again.

He remembers the first time they’d ever used a shower like this, how they’d laughed and caught the water in their hands and stood underneath it until it ran cold, much faster than any shower would in this day and age. He lifts his hand now, palm up once they step in, watching the water pool and then looking to Nicky’s face, seeing him smile his sweet little smile because he’s on the same page, he always is, and then he takes Joe’s face in his big palms and presses their foreheads together, wipes Joe’s tears with his thumbs, and Joe feels like he can breath for the first time that day.

_I love you._

“You need a shave, Nico.”

Then there’s Nicky’s soft laughter, and Joe’s smiling because _he_ _wants to_ for the first time all week, instead of because he knows the team needs someone to stay positive. And then Nicky’s peppering fluttery, scratchy kisses over his face, and finally against his lips.

_I love you too, my heart, my life. Forever and always._

“Maybe I’m jealous of your beard. Maybe _you_ should shave, Joe.”

And then Joe laughs for the first time in he’s not even sure how long (Nicky smiles at him in a gentle way that tells him _too long_ ), because Nicky would cry and mourn for a week (or however long it took to grow back) if he so much as trimmed his beard an inch shorter than normal.

When the rest of the day has been washed away and they’re done in the washroom, Joe almost starts crying _again_ when he realizes that the mattress is not only king size, but also made of memory foam.

“We will have to send Copley a fruit basket, or whatever they do now.” Nicky sidles up to his back like a man on a mission, wrapping him up in a gentle embrace from behind and kissing the nape of his neck, his shoulder, behind his ear in a way that makes Joe want to close his eyes and let himself fall down right there (knows Nicky would always catch him).

“Mm, that’s a good idea.” He’s not sure if he’s talking about the fruit basket or the way Nicky is touching him. Then he forgets if it matters, when he feels himself being nudged toward the bed.

There’s a certain safety in the hotels Copley vets that they usually only find in the personal safe houses and homes they’ve collected over the years, one that allows them to settle down for the night without having to first prioritize their safety in case of an intrusion. Nicky’s gun rests on the nightstand instead of under the pillow, for one thing (and if they’re feeling really adventurous, they might even fall asleep facing away from the door).

It also usually leads to them breaking from their usual spooning arrangement, and especially after the day they’ve had, Nicky seems to have something else in mind. Joe is too worn out to even think to do anything but settle where Nicky’s confident hands guide him, his brain floaty enough that he registers little else other than the sensations, the soft duvet and Nicky’s warmth, his spicy, familiar scent.

In the end, they wind up facing each other on their sides, Nicky’s back to the door and Joe’s to the far wall. Their legs are tangled, Joe’s hands tucked neatly against Nicky’s bare chest, tracing over his heart, Nicky’s arms curled protectively around him, one hand stroking gently over his curls.

Joe can feel the weight of Nicky’s gaze, comfortable after so many years, on his face. His own eyelids feel almost too heavy to keep open, though his instinct is to stay up as long as possible, to cherish the nights like this. He’s staring at his favourite of Nicky’s moles (of the ones on his chest, anyway), a very small freckle just under his right collarbone, thinking about little other than how the warmth and comfort of being held in a bed this nice feels like an almost obscene luxury. Then Nicky’s thumb slides over his bottom lip, and he's blinking up at him, abruptly wondering what he's been doing, why he hadn't spent the last however many minutes admiring the sweep of Nicky's fair eyelashes in the moonlight.

Nicky looks warm and sleepy, always the unrelenting calm through whatever storms this life brings them. He’s blinking slowly, lips curled up just barely, the pout so subtle that nobody but Joe would (will) ever pick up on it.

Joe tilts his chin up, snuggling his face into the pillow so close that the tips of their noses brush, their breath mingling.

Nicky kisses him.

It’s gentle, almost teasing. Soft and subtle, just enough of a reminder that they’re here, that they’re physically together in a way that it took them years to learn to appreciate properly. One of Nicky’s hands slides off his skin, then, before gentle fingertips brush ticklishly over his hand as a request to hold. Then Nicky’s lacing their fingers, squeezing Joe’s hand and brushing another soft kiss to his knuckles in a way reminiscent of how _Joe_ kissed _him_ the first night they ever curled up together without giving into that initial swell of seemingly never-ending lust.

“I love you, Joe.”

Joe snuggles closer, basking in the wonderful sensation and warm, familiar comfort of Nicky’s arm settling over his waist for the night. He smiles softly, eyes closed before he even gets to see the way the affection warms his Nicky's, the way they roam lovingly over his face, the soft curve of his answering smile.

“I love you too, Nicky.”

**Author's Note:**

> title from the last of the real ones by fall out boy


End file.
